Page 71 of Cold Case, Warm Hearts

“Aspen Kincaid, you are not crazy. You’re one of the sanest, most rational people I know. You might be like your mother in a few ways, but you have a sound and ordered mind.”

“I know.” But when she blinked, a tear dripped down her cheek.

“And your mother wasn’t ‘crazy.’ I don’t know what she had, but it seems pretty clear that she suffered from a mental disorder caused by a chemical imbalance. That word… We need to stop using that word.” He was going to eradicate it from his vocabulary permanently.

She said again, “I know.”

“I’m not sure you do,” he said. “But I assure you, whatever mental illness your mother suffered, she didn’t pass it along to you.” He pulled her close again, wishing he could convinceher. Would she always wonder? Would others, like Uncle Dean, make it worse with their assumptions and theories?

Would Aspen always question her own sanity because of her mother’s illness?

He held her close and prayed that God would help her see herself the way Garrett saw her, the way God saw her. As a beautiful, kind, generous, and determined woman.

A woman he was falling for more every moment.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

After Garrett started laying the tile in the bathroom, Aspen reapplied her makeup and headed out.

When she’d returned home from her coffee with Brent, she’d only wanted to light a fire in her fireplace, turn on an old movie, and escape for a few hours. The state of her living room had destroyed that notion, which was why she’d been so upset.

But Garrett had given her some good ideas to follow up on. She called the police department and asked to speak with Chief Cote, but he’d gone out of town for a couple of days. Frustrated, she left her name and asked that he call her when he returned.

With Brent Salcito’s words fresh in her mind, she decided to see if she could track down some of her parents’ old friends. If what he said was true, if there was any way her father had hurt her mother…

It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t.

But people changed. And sometimes otherwise good people could behave very badly. How had Garrett put it? Everybody had triggers that made them crazy. Maybe Mom had pulled one of Dad’s. Maybe he had hurt her.

Aspen couldn’t imagine. But she knew Dad hadn’t become a believer until after she was born. How could she know what he’d been like before he’d surrendered to Christ?

His last words echoed in her mind.“I didn’t do right by her… Do what I never had the courage to do.”

What had he done? What had henotdone?

Aspen’s fears dishonored the man who’d raised her so well. Who’d loved her so well. If there was any chance her father had killed her mother, then Aspen didn’t want to know.

But Dad had asked her to come here, to uncover the truth. How could she disregard his last wishes?

She parked in front of the library for the second time that day. Though it was an older building, the inside was new and modern, brightly lit and surprisingly large for such a small town. She approached the circulation desk and spoke to a young woman with dark brown hair pulled back in a tight bun. All she needed were reading glasses to look like the quintessential fussy librarian.

“Do you have old Coventry High yearbooks?” Aspen asked.

“Of course. What year?”

Aspen gave the woman her parents’ year of graduation, and they headed to a section in the back, where she saw a number of books about the history of Coventry and the surrounding area. The librarian found the year Aspen had asked for.

Aspen took the book, asking, “Any chance you have Plymouth State yearbooks as well?”

The librarian’s lips shifted to one side. “Hmm, that’s a good question. Let me find out.”

After she walked away, Aspen slid into a chair at a table far from the other patrons and opened the thin yearbook. First, she found the senior portraits. She gazed at the one of her mother, which looked so much like the image Aspen saw in the mirror every day. Jane was younger here than she’d been in the framedwedding picture Aspen had kept at her bedside all her life. Aspen snapped a picture with her phone, then found her dad’s portrait.

Aspen’s mother was a stranger to her, but her father… She traced the lines of his face, that strong jaw. He was handsome, no doubt. In his eyes was the man she’d known. Even in the photo, she saw his serious nature. But he was also good and kind. He wasn’t much of a jokester, but he knew how to laugh. This photo showed none of the smile lines that would someday grace his face. It showed none of the grief the ensuing years would bring.

She snapped a picture, wishing she had an original. Maybe her grandparents did.

Turning the pages slowly, she peered at every image for more glimpses of her parents.

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